


Summertime Blues

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [26]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred





	Summertime Blues

Title: Summertime Blues

Author: Lady_Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com)

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Q/O, Alternate Reality, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort 

Rating: NC-17

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing in his playground.

 

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie, betas par excellence! Any mistakes are mine.

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess  
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
A Family Affair  
Best Laid Plans  
An Apple for Teacher  
What’s for Supper  
Quinn’s Special Day  
Pacifier  
Snow Angels  
One Man’s Junk  
May I Have This Dance  
Four Green Fields  
Too Darned Hot  
Pomp and Circumstances

 

SUMMARY: picking up the pieces…

 

~*~*~*~

 

“We’re sorry, the party you are trying to reach is not available at this time. Please leave a message at-”

 

Quinn slammed the phone down in frustration. Countless unanswered voice mails. Mail returned unopened. Emails blocked. No answer at Ben’s apartment. 

 

What the hell was going on?

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben saw the name on the Caller ID and winced. Quinn. *Again*. He should probably change his number.

 

He turned back to the computer. Who’d have thought IT jobs would be so damned hard to find? They were *out* there, lots of them, but most didn’t pay as well as the Academy (probably because he’d been there for over ten years, a one-man department for the last seven), and anything in the right salary range required at least a Master’s and/or some sort of post-collegiate certification. Neither of which he had, and had never needed before now. Worse, he was being forced to compete with younger, hungrier applicants who *had* or were actively pursuing those same post-graduate degrees. He felt… old. Out of step with the rest of the world. Not unlike Quinn, sometimes, he thought ruefully. What a fucking mess.

 

He gave himself a mental shake. No time to feel sorry for himself. He *had* to find a job, and soon. Boston was too close for comfort. Quinn would almost certainly find him there. 

 

Maybe New York…

 

~*~*~*~

 

Adele watched as Quinn aimlessly wandered the museum, his misery obvious. She should have insisted on going to Europe, and summer session be damned. Florence abounded with sculptures and other artwork, not to mention the glorious surrounding countryside, fine foods and wines and the freedom to meander at will. The sunshine alone would have done him a world of good.

 

The incident with Xandra Criton had shaken both of her men to their cores. Then the Board of Governors had inexplicably compounded the problem by forbidding any interaction on campus, on pain of Ben’s immediate dismissal. It was tantamount to blackmail. Quinn had railed and threatened retaliatory action, but she had talked him off the ledge. Barely.

 

Then, without warning or explanation, Ben had submitted his resignation to Mark Winters, and severed all ties. It was as if he had simply vanished into thin air. 

 

Devastated, Quinn had locked himself away in his brownstone. Luckily, she had her own key for emergencies. He and Bernini might both have starved to death otherwise. She’d listened as he’d raged, held him as he’d cried (an extremely rare occurrence), and counseled patience and understanding. “Dark Irish” moodiness morphed into an aching loneliness. 

 

Desperate to restore any semblance of normalcy, she had dragged him to New York City, with lures of museum exhibits and Broadway shows. Apathetically, he had allowed himself to be packed off on the train, but it seemed nothing could raise his spirits. She knew he was seeing Ben around every corner.

 

Something had to be done.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stared at the phone. A 212 area code, but no Caller ID. He started to let it go into voice mail, then thought better of it. What if it was in response to one of his on-line job applications? He clicked the “talk” button. “Hello?”

 

“Benjamin?”

 

“… *Adele*?” Shit, he *knew* he shouldn’t have picked up. How the hell had she-

 

“Oui, bien sûr. It is so good to hear your voice, mon ami! We have missed you. Are you well?”

 

“I’m… I’m fine, thanks,” Ben said automatically. He didn’t have to ask who the “we” was. Damn, now Quinn would-

 

Adele’s soft voice brought him back to reality. “Ben? Are you there?”

 

“What? Oh, sorry, Adele, I’m here. Bad connection. What were you saying?” He tried to marshal his thoughts.

 

“I said that Quinn and I are in New York City, and it would be such a wonderful surprise for him if you joined us, even if only for a few days. You could meet us at the hotel, and-”

 

“Wait a minute, do what? *Join* you? In- in *New York*? Adele, I don’t think that’s a good-”

 

“Ben, listen to me, s’il vous plait. Quinn misses you so much. He does not say it, but he is absolutely wretched. It would make him so happy to see you. Please, won’t you-” 

 

“I can’t, Adele,” Ben said flatly. “I’m sorry. I have rent and student loans and, well, there’s no point in discussing it. It’s impossible, c’est impossible.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was without a job. Or that he had been considering looking in New York City. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

 

Could it?

 

“Zut alors! You are both so incredibly stubborn. You would rather wallow in doom and gloom than try to fix the problem! Quelle stupidité! Benjamin Kensington, I will not sit back and allow you to ruin Quinn’s life for him! If you do not care that you are breaking his heart, *I* do! Now listen to me, young man,” she said decisively, Professor Gauliere to an errant student. “You will come to your senses at once, n’est-ce pas? Stop acting like a petulant child and have some consideration for someone else! At least have the decency to call him, email him, do *something*. Let him know you are alive, s’il vous plait. I know he has tried to reach you. *Talk* to him. Is that asking so much, mon enfant?”

 

Ben flushed. “It’s more complicated than that, Adele. And I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s really not something I care to discuss.”

 

“Men.” Adele’s voice was disgusted. “Why do I bother with either of you? Eh bien, I will suggest to him that he send you a postcard. I will even buy it for him. Would *that* make you happy? Do you think you could loosen your wounded pride enough to at least reciprocate? You can send an email in care of me; I will be sure that he gets it. At least it would be something. You are still at your old address, oui?”

 

Ben sighed. “Well,” he said reluctantly, “I suppose-”

 

“Bien. There is a pre-paid ticket for you at the Amtrak station, and we are staying at the Plaza.” Brisk, no-nonsense.

 

“Wait a minute, we said *email*, not *air* mail! I just told you-”

 

“And *I* just told *you*! Get on that damned train! You will kick yourself if you don’t, Benjamin, or I shall kick you myself! Cheri, please do not ruin my only vacation this year by ruining his! He misses you terribly. The hotel is paid for; one person more will not matter. We have separate bedrooms, so you will have plenty of privacy. Please, pack a bag and *come* to him. You know it is what you both want. *Do* it. Before it is too late.”

 

The woman was a frigging French sorceress. Ben heard himself unwillingly agreeing to her terms, even as his better judgment told him to run like hell. Wasn’t this supposed to have been his chance to make a clean – if cowardly – break? But deep down, he *wanted* to be convinced. If things didn’t work out, then he could blame someone else. 

 

But his traitorous heart was racing at the thought of seeing Quinn, of exploring New York with him. She was right; they needed to be together, to heal the breach Quinn hadn’t even known existed. “Okay. You win. But I *will* pay you back, every penny, plus interest, do you hear?” 

 

“Bien sûr, mon petit, je vous comprende. Merci, merci beaucoup! A bientot!” The line went dead.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Hot and sweaty, tightly clutching a duffel and laptop bag, Ben finally reached the Plaza Hotel. He’d elected to walk from the train station, after a porter assured him it wasn’t far. Evidently “a few short blocks” had a different meaning in New York City. And, ironically, there was a subway stop right across the street, had he bothered to even look at the map. 

 

The air smelled oddly of diesel fumes and spices. He heard people around him conversing in Italian, French, English, German and other dialects at which he could only guess, all interwoven in the tapestry that was downtown Manhattan. He felt like an interplanetary alien.

 

At the front desk, he found a note from Adele, with a plastic key card. She and Quinn were out for the afternoon, but would be back in time to change for dinner. His bedroom was on the right. Help himself to the mini-bar, or order room service. He could feel the desk clerk’s eyes boring into his back as he headed for the elevator. 

 

The suite was spacious, with comfortably luxurious furnishings. Quinn’s clothes hung neatly in the closet, and Ben couldn’t resist deeply inhaling the familiar scent of pipe tobacco. God, how he’d missed that smell…

 

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, fingering the scruffy beard and moustache. In the weeks since he’d impulsively walked away from the Academy, he’d been too emotionally drained to care about little things like shaving. Job hunting had been done mostly on-line, and without a lot of success. By the time it had quit itching, he’d actually grown used to it. But now…

 

He picked up Quinn’s straight-edge, then carefully set it back down on the vanity. Instead, he took a long hot shower, then stretched out in his skivvies on the king-sized bed. Opening his laptop, he tried to concentrate on updating his résumé, but his eyelids were heavy and the bed was soooo comfortable…

 

~*~*~*~

 

“… *Ben*?” 

 

Ben started awake and saw Quinn standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his expression unreadable. He looked awful. Gaunt. Tired. *Old*. 

 

“Hi,” he said weakly. “Surprise.” 

 

No response. 

 

“Um, Happy Birthday?”

 

“A few months ago.” Impassive, devoid of feeling. Almost.

 

“Right.” Okay, this was awkward. He wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Quinn had every right to be angry with him. Had he written him off for good? No, Adele had insisted that Quinn was missing him. He looked like he’d been dragged through a knothole. And where the hell was *Adele*? This had been *her* idea, after all. 

 

He tried again. “Glad to see me?” Tentative. 

 

“… Yes.” Simple. Heartfelt.

 

Ben exhaled. “Me, too.” He sat up, careful not to move too quickly, or to look away. “Quinn? Are you okay? With me being here, I mean?” He slowly leaned forward, acutely aware of his state of undress.

 

Something in the big man’s world-weary face seemed indefinably to relax. Just a little. “*Ben*,” he whispered, as if to convince himself of what he was seeing. It was like watching a starving man look at a McDonald’s Big Mac and fries. And *he* was the hamburger.

 

“Yes, love,” he said quietly, willing himself not to make any sudden moves. It was all he could do not to leap off the bed. His arms, his very *soul* ached to touch, to hold, to comfort. “I’m here. With *you*. Adele asked me to come.”

 

Quinn took a single step into the room. “Adele did this?” he growled. A lean, hungry jungle cat, stalking its prey. This was more promising, even if a little scary.

 

“Sure did.” He nodded, straight-faced. “Bad girl, huh? Naughty little vixen.” He turned his head to watch as Quinn slowly circled the bed. “Guess you’re gonna get pissed, yeah?”

 

“Probably,” Quinn rumbled, blue eyes glinting. “Remind me.”

 

The grin broke through. “Can I watch?”

 

“Depends,” Quinn said, now only inches away. “Let’s see you earn it.” His mouth covered Ben’s, and the rest of the world faded away…

 

~*~*~*~

 

Adele laughed softly to herself as she watched Quinn walk into the bedroom, heard Ben’s voice. Bien, she thought, amusez-vous, mes cher amis. 

 

Picking up the room key, she quietly let herself back out of the suite. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben groaned aloud as he felt Quinn’s cock penetrate his opening. Their need to reconnect was so strong, so urgent, they’d barely stopped long enough for preparation. Ben knew he’d feel it later, but right now nothing else mattered but Quinn’s arms around him, his long body pressed against him, the sounds of their mingled urgent desire. “Yes, yes, *yes*,” he chanted, as Quinn began to move inside him.

 

It was over almost as soon as it began. Quinn convulsed with a soft cry, and Ben felt the hot fluid fill him and leak onto the sheets. He shifted to a slightly more comfortable post-coital position as Quinn collapsed against him with a low moan. He felt Quinn’s arms close around him, felt his beard against the back of his neck. The sigh of utter contentment in his ear made him smile, as they both drifted off.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Why did you do it?” Quinn asked softly.

 

Ben didn’t have to ask which “it” he meant. “I had to,” he said slowly. “If I’d told you beforehand, you’d have had a hundred excellent reasons not to.” He turned in Quinn’s arms, reflexively seeking out the heartbeat that centered his world. The heart he knew he’d all but broken when he’d walked away without a backward glance. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

 

Quinn said nothing for several minutes, and Ben thought he might have fallen back asleep. Then, “You did what you felt was right. It was inevitable. You weren’t happy, and God alone knows how unappreciated you were. They’ve had the Devil’s own time of it to find a replacement.” There was more than a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice. “So, what are you doing now?”

 

Ben sighed. “Still looking. Working part-time at the Apple Store. Studying for some certifications, to make myself more marketable. Probably should have waited until I had something lined up first, but…”

 

Quinn nuzzled the top of his head. “Emotions were running high, yeah? Strike fast, before you changed your mind?”

 

Ben nodded, tightening his arm around Quinn’s waist. “Real dumb ass, huh? Cut off my nose to spite my face. You’d think I’d know better.”

 

“Speaking of faces,” Quinn said, raising Ben’s chin. “New look for you.”

 

Ben blushed self-consciously. “Not really sure it’s me. And it itches.” He wasn’t going to admit to having grown it simply because it was too much trouble to do otherwise.

 

Quinn rotated his face from one side to the other. “Different.”

 

Typical non-response. “Should I keep it?” Ben asked casually.

 

Quinn released him. “It’s a personal decision.” 

 

Damn. Did he really have no opinion, or was it just not important enough to him to say? Ben remembered an earlier conversation, where Quinn had told him he’d look good with or without facial hair, but had warned him about upkeep. It had led to an entertaining discussion of “manscaping,” that had ended rather predictably. 

 

But they weren’t that same Ben and Quinn now. Maybe they never would be again. 

 

“Still in the old apartment?” 

 

Confused by the non sequitur, Ben struggled to focus. “Um, yeah, for now. I signed a new lease at the beginning of the year, but they said they’d work with me if I decided to relocate.”

 

“And have you? Decided?”

 

“Not yet,” Ben admitted. “First a full-time job, then a place to live.”

 

Quinn was quiet again, his breathing deep and measured. Ben raised his head and studied the beloved face. There were dark circles under his eyes, underscored by the red-brown beard. There was a bit more gray in his hair, and it needed cutting. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days. And knowing Quinn, he probably hadn’t. Between cleaning up the mess with the Critons and then Ben disappearing without a trace, he’d likely had too much on his mind to worry about simple things like food and sleep. Hopefully, he’d at least remembered to feed Bernini. 

 

And likely drowning his sorrows in whiskey, too, Ben thought ruefully. The man needed a fucking keeper. You’d think at nearly fifty years old, he could at least take care of himself. After all, he’d been doing it for more than half his life, right? 

 

And whose fault is that? the little accusatory voice in his head sneered. You waltzed into his life one stormy October night, practically raped him in his own living room, then set about making yourself indispensable to his very being. You cooked and cleaned, telling yourself he was “too busy” with school matters. You updated his house and his computer, and bailed him out of untold disasters in his lab. Oh, and don’t let’s forget warming his bed, of course. 

 

Who would take care of him, if Ben moved away? Adele? Probably. She’d hunted Ben down and read him the riot act until he’d agreed to come to New York. He brushed the hair off Quinn’s forehead. That stubborn cowlick… 

 

A hand reached up and caught his, bringing his fingers to soft lips. The eyelids flickered. Ben leaned in for a kiss that seemed to go on forever. Soft, loving, uncomplicated. He moved to lie full-length on top of Quinn’s quiescent frame, trying not to wince at the ribs digging into him. Yeah, definitely not eating enough. Well, that ended tonight.

 

“You’re a mess,” he said tenderly. 

 

Quinn nodded. 

 

“What are we going to do about that?”

 

“Is there a ‘we’ to *be* doing something about it?”

 

And there it was. The elephant in the room. Quinn wasn’t going to make up his mind for him. 

 

“*We* are going to find you the biggest steak in town,” he said firmly. “With all the trimmings. A green salad, baked potato with butter *and* sour cream, and a gooey chocolaty dessert. You can choose the wine.” He ran his hand along Quinn’s ribcage, tickling lightly. 

 

Something like hope flickered in the blue eyes, then it was gone. Quinn *wanted* to be taken in hand, cosseted, even bullied a little, but was afraid to ask. Small wonder: he’d gone to the mat to save both their asses. Ani’s, too. And Ben had thanked him by vanishing out of his life, without even saying goodbye. 

 

You rat bastard, he told himself angrily. He didn’t deserve to get kicked in the balls like that. 

 

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “C’mon, you. We need showers. And I need a shave.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

They joined Adele downstairs for dinner that evening. She greeted Ben cordially, and made no mention of their conspicuous earlier absence. She and Ben ganged up on Quinn, insisting on a full meal, plus wine and dessert. He meekly applied himself, commenting only that he’d probably have indigestion later. 

 

It was a beginning.

 

After dinner, they moved to the adjacent lounge, where a small band was playing. Adele pulled Quinn onto the dance floor, while Ben found a quiet table for three. As usual, they garnered a good deal of attention, moving with practiced ease through a complex routine. Ben swelled with pride watching the two of them show off. Then he and Adele took a turn. Quinn applauded them both when they returned. 

 

The music switched to a smooth romantic number and couples swayed in time on the floor. Adele touched Quinn’s arm and inclined her head. Quinn arched a questioning eyebrow.

 

“Go on,” she whispered. 

 

Quinn stared. “You mean-” 

 

“Why not? He would love it.”

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Seize the moment, Quinn. He has met you more than halfway. Say thank you!”

 

Quinn swallowed hard and nodded. “Ben,” he said softly, “would you… like to dance?” 

 

Pleasantly surprised, Ben smiled. “I’d love to, Quinn.” He glanced at a beaming Adele, who made a subtle gesture with her wine glass. The two men made their way out onto the floor.

 

Quinn slid an arm around Ben’s waist and loosely clasped his hand. Ben stepped closer, reveling in the hard embrace. It was almost like their Valentine’s Day dance at the cabin, even if neither man was in a tux. Admittedly, he’d never pictured them in a New York City supper club, but no one seemed surprised at the sight of two men dancing together. Ben even swore he saw one or two glasses raised in salute. 

 

It was getting harder and harder to remember why he’d stayed away. The three of them enjoying downtime together seemed the most natural thing in the world. He closed his eyes and leaned into Quinn’s arms as the music swirled around them.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Next morning, Adele prepared for an all-out assault on Fifth Avenue. Chic in a silk shirtwaist and high-heeled sandals, she gleefully brandished a shiny new credit card, brought along for that express purpose. 

 

Quinn placidly sipped his tea. “If you run out of money, send the bill to the hotel.” 

 

“Merci, mon coeur,” she answered, fondly kissing his cheek. “A bientot, mes chers!”

 

“Incorrigible,” Quinn muttered, and Ben smiled at the well-remembered grumble. Some things never changed. Adele had smacked him around and brought him to his senses, Quinn had said thank you, and she had acknowledged.

 

They sat down to a big room-service breakfast. Ben ordered nearly everything on the menu, so that Quinn couldn’t object to not having his preferences. He was pleased to see his lover diligently apply himself to eggs and bacon, toast and fruit, washed down with cup after cup of strong black tea. They’d made love again last night before falling asleep in each other’s arms, and Quinn hadn’t moved all night. He seemed to be well on the road to recovery.

 

But was he already taking it for granted that Ben was back to stay? There’d been some mixed signals, to be sure, and Ben still couldn’t say for certain. It would be easy to just chuck the last couple of months, to have no greater concern than nursemaiding his big Irish-born lover. In effect, to allow Quinn to “keep” him. The very thing he’d railed against since they’d first come together, other people’s opinions to the contrary.

 

Pushing back his chair, he started stacking the dishes on the tray. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “We need to work some of this stuff off.”

 

Quinn smiled and swallowed the rest of his tea.

 

~*~*~*~

 

They strolled aimlessly, glancing in store windows and enjoying the morning sunshine. By unspoken consent, they wound up in Central Park, away from the businesspeople hurrying to their day jobs. Quinn found them a bench not too terribly covered in pigeon droppings. A pair of squirrels eyed them briefly, then decided they weren’t worth the trouble.

 

“This is nice,” Ben said, laying his head back against the bench, face turned up to the sunlight filtering through the leaves. 

 

“Mm hmm,” Quinn agreed. “I love you,” he added, almost in a whisper. 

 

“Love you, too,” Ben said softly. 

 

“So you’re coming home?” Quinn asked hopefully.

 

Ben sighed. “What’s ‘home’, Quinn? I don’t work at the school anymore, remember? In fact, I don’t work much of anywhere right now.”

 

“You don’t need to-”

 

“Fuck that!” Ben said, more forcefully than he’d intended. “Damn it, how many times do I have to go over this with you? You are *not* going to set me down on some satin cushion, holed up in your fancy brownstone like Bernie, waiting for you to come home at night! I’m not your- your ‘boy toy.’ Forget it.”

 

Silence. Hurtful, hurt silence. Ben slumped in his seat. “Shit, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right at all.” He reached for Quinn’s hand. The skin was cold, clammy. “Quinn, say something, please?”

 

Quinn pulled away. “What is there to say?” Despondent. 

 

“Don’t,” Ben said brokenly. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m the one who fucked things up, not you.” He leaned forward, trying to see Quinn’s expression. There was a glint of a tear in the corner of one eye. “Quinn…” he tried again.

 

“I told them.” Quinn spoke dispassionately, staring straight ahead. “I told Mark if they tried to come back on you for anything, I’d sue their arses off. I *would* have, too. We weren’t breaking any laws.” He swallowed hard. “But it turns out they weren’t either, or so the lawyers tell me. It’s a privately funded institution, so they could make their own rules. They couldn’t forbid us to be together, except on *their* turf.” He put his head in his hands. “And as I’m not a US citizen, they weren’t even sure I’d have standing to sue anyway.”

 

Ben touched his shoulder. “I’m not worth getting deported over, you big dumb mick,” he said softly, hoping to lighten the mood, even a little.

 

Quinn sat up. “Ye are to me,” he said fervently. “I’d move heaven and earth to keep ye safe, Ben. I thought I had, too. But I failed you.” 

 

He looked… beaten. Demoralized. Ben ached for him, for them both. Quinn had fought for him, bled for him, put his own career on the line. And Ben had thrown it back in his face and walked away. He felt the knife twisting in his gut, and the hand on the blade was his own. He wanted to run, to hide, anything to avoid those sad blue eyes that could see into his very soul.

 

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled. “It’s too much. I thought I could, but…”

 

Quinn swore in Irish. “Ben, nothing has changed. We can beat this. We can still be together. Maybe not on campus, but shite, we didn’t do that anyway. Please…”

 

Ben shook his head. “No, it’s *not* like before, Quinn, don’t you see? People *know* about us now, and they don’t like it, and they’ll use it as a weapon against you.” 

 

Quinn took him by the shoulders, and shook him lightly. “Ben, I love you. We can handle anything together. You don’t need to go it alone, lad. Please, come back to me.”

 

Ben raised a trembling hand to Quinn’s cheek. They sat silently, looking into each other’s eyes, reading all the unspoken messages. Then Ben stood. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

 

“Ben, I’m begging you,” Quinn whispered.

 

“Don’t,” Ben said brokenly. “Quinntrell Joseph Donovan *doesn’t* beg. He commands. He takes a stand and dares people to challenge his authority. He never begs.”

 

“He’s begging now,” Quinn insisted. “He’ll crawl on his belly, if that’s what it takes for the man he loves to come back to him.” He started to kneel, but Ben caught him and pulled him back to his feet.

 

“You have bad knees,” Ben said shakily. “And I’m not big enough to get you back up, if you get stuck down there.”

 

“It’d be worth it.”

 

“Why do you want this so badly?” Ben said plaintively. “Why can’t you just let me go? I didn’t want a scene; that’s why I left without saying goodbye. I knew you’d have a million reasons why I should stay! Damn you, Quinn Donovan. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” He turned and stumbled away.

 

Quinn watched him go, his world in ashes at his feet.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben wandered for hours, blind to everything but his own misery. He longed to throw caution to the winds and run back to Quinn’s strong arms. But how could he? The Board of Governors had painted a target on Quinn’s back because of him. That was why he’d quit, wasn’t it? He could not – *would* not -- be the means by which that illustrious career was destroyed, all because of one drunken miscalculation on a stormy Halloween night. 

 

He should go back to the hotel, grab his bags and run like hell. Give his notice to the landlord and really disappear this time. Start over somewhere far enough away that neither Quinn nor Adele could find him. Where didn’t matter. 

 

You can’t do it. If you could, you’d have done it by now. You moped around, hid under the bed in your apartment, even forgot to shave, much less look for a decent job. And when Adele called, you leaped at the chance to go crawling back. Because you love him, and running away isn’t going to change that. 

 

Tell me something I don’t know.

 

And you’d always wonder what happened. If Quinn and Adele finally got married, had a couple of kids… 

 

Quinn loves kids. He’d be a terrific father.

 

Quinn loves *you*. Live with it. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

As darkness began to fall, Ben found himself back at the Plaza. His feet ached almost as much as his head and his heart. He needed a cold beer and a hot meal, in that order. And Quinn’s arms around him, the beloved baritone voice telling him they’d work it out somehow. He had no right to ask, but he wanted it, all the same.

 

He let himself inside the suite, a little surprised his key card still worked. It was dark, except for a light in Quinn’s bedroom. He forced himself to walk the thousand miles across the living area.

 

Quinn was sprawled atop the neatly made bed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist and half-heartedly pulled from his waistband, as if he couldn’t be bothered. There was an open bottle of Jameson’s on the bedside table. The room reeked of the potent Irish whiskey. 

 

Take a good look, asshole. You did this. You came to New York, you fucked him, got his hopes up, and then you walked away again. Good job, moron. 

 

He up-ended the bottle into the toilet, then tossed it in the trash can. Then he walked back to the bed and lightly smacked Quinn’s cheeks. “Quinn, wake up, damn it. Talk to me.”

 

Blue eyes cracked open. “… Hmph?”

 

“It’s Ben. Sit up and talk to me, you drunken sot.”

 

Quinn scrubbed at his eyes. “Ben?” he muttered. “I thought you…” He trailed off. 

 

“Yeah, so did I. But I’m here, and we’re going to talk. Are you sober enough to do that?”

 

Quinn struggled into a sitting position, running his fingers through his hair. He looked awful, but seemed relatively focused. Maybe the Irish really did have hollow legs. He’d never actually seen Quinn drunk, except that time he’d hurt his bad knee and accidentally mixed whiskey and oxycodone . And he’d been a hell of a lot more fun that night than he was now.

 

“Where were you?” Quinn asked querulously. “I called the police, but they said we had to wait until morning. I didn’t even know where to start looking. I was afraid you’d get… I don’t know. Lost, or mugged, or… something.” 

 

“I’m a grown man, Quinn. I don’t need a babysitter. Unlike certain people I could name,” Ben retorted. “I’m nearly thirty-three years old. You think I can’t handle the Big Apple without you? Well, guess again. I can, and I did, and I *am*.” He hated himself for the hurt in the blue eyes. 

 

“I wasn’t suggesting-”

 

“Yeah, I know. You were worried about me. Thank you. But of the two of us, it looks to me like you’re the one who needs a babysitter. *Look* at yourself. You’re a mess. When did you ever sleep in your clothes, huh? And you’re drunk, besides. No wonder Adele left. *I’d* have thrown you in the tub and turned on the cold water.” 

 

Quinn’s lips thinned. The blue eyes glinted with something like… anger. “Ye’ve got a right smart mouth on ye, laddie buck. Where do ye get off tellin’ me what t’ do, eh? Ye skive off for weeks, then suddenly show up pretendin’ everything’s all fine and dandy for about a minute, *then* ye turn right around and start bleatin’ that ye canna take it anymore, and run like a scared goat! And ye hae the nerve to say *I’m* the one needin’ a nurse? Well, *feck* ye, ye bleedin’ troglodyte! Off wi’ ye then, and see if I bloody well care. The back o’ me hand to ye!”

 

It should have hurt. But somehow the harsh words slid off like harmless drops of water. “Troglodyte? Pretty fancy word, *Professor*. A real fifty-center, as my dad would say. Does using big words make you feel superior to a poor little Nothing-But-A-Bachelor-Degree like me? Well, fuck you, asshole, and the horse you rode in on! You’re a disgrace to the Donovan name. If Jenny were here, she’d be ashamed of you. God knows *I* am.”

 

It was like a small devil was plucking at his eyeballs. He could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. Any second now, Quinn was going to deck him. And he’d probably deserve it.

 

But the big Irishman just sat glaring at him, fists clenching at his sides. Oh yeah, he was sober, and madder than hell. Well, wasn’t that what Ben had wanted? To get a reaction – *any* reaction?

 

“You’re a self-righteous, pontificating little bastard, and there’s the truth of it,” Quinn grated out, his voice dripping icicles. “You’ve made me lose my temper, and very few can do that without my permission.” The brogue had vanished. This was Quinntrell Joseph Donovan, Ph.D., product of generations of British aristocratic breeding, overlaid with a thin veneer of Irish gentility. 

 

It was terrifying. 

 

It was incredibly arousing. 

 

Damn it all to hell. Ben forced himself to remain calm, to return the look with one of open disdain. He would *not* be cowed. 

 

Neither man moved, barely breathed.

 

Then Ben… *smiled*. 

 

Quinn blinked.

 

Ben let the grin widen. Mocking, taunting. Unafraid. 

 

Quinn raised one elegantly sardonic eyebrow. 

 

A draw.

 

Ben leaned forward and kissed the tip of Quinn’s nose. Quinn made an inarticulate noise of disgust, then jerked him close and covered Ben’s mouth with his own. Ben grabbed a double handful of the chestnut-and-silver hair, as they devoured one another. He felt Quinn’s hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and leaned back, batting his hands away. 

 

“I can do it,” he muttered thickly. 

 

“Be quick about it, then,” Quinn said, blue eyes gleaming. “Or I’ll be rippin’ it off o’ ye.”

 

“I’d like to see you fuckin’ try,” Ben shot back, pulling the shirt over his head. “Sure you can remember how?”

 

“Mouthy little perv, ain’t ye,” Quinn purred, removing his own shirt and moving to his belt. “I’m gonna make ye eat them words.”

 

Ben felt his nerve endings firing. He remembered a night in front of the fireplace, when he’d dared to poke the sleeping dragon . “C’mon on, then,” he sneered. “If you think you’re man enough.”

 

Quinn pounced. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

The two men wrestled across the bed, struggling for control. Quinn pinned Ben’s wrists over his head, holding him in place while he licked and nipped his ears, neck, shoulders and chest. He tongued, then bit Ben’s nipples until he groaned aloud and arched his back, straining for more skin-on-skin contact. Quinn’s lips pulled back in a taunting leer, and Ben locked eyes with him, then hocked back as if he might actually spit in his face. Instead, Quinn captured his mouth in a punishing kiss, their teeth knocking against each other. Their tongues battled, leaving both men gasping for breath. Below, their rock-hard cocks rubbed and slapped at each other, heightening their mutual excitement. 

 

When Quinn pulled back slightly, Ben grabbed him around the waist, rolling him to the side and over onto his back. Now *he* was on top. Quinn’s blue eyes blazed in the lamplight. He lasciviously licked his lips and growled deep in his throat, refusing to give quarter. All of his senses were attuned to the panting auburn-haired man straddling his waist with a feral grin. His cock strained to reach Ben’s arse, but the damned pooka deliberately moved away, even as he fisted his own and taunted him with it, inches from his face. Grabbing Ben’s hips, he dragged him forward until the gorgeous cock was within reach, then opened his mouth and took him in to the root. Ben groaned and slid closer, head thrown back in ecstasy as Quinn tongued and sucked him, hands holding him bruisingly in place. Somehow, he managed to keep his teeth away from the sensitive skin, even though a part of him wanted to draw blood and drink it down. 

 

When Ben climaxed with a wild cry, Quinn swallowed quickly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He ached to bury himself in this man who could drive him crazy with a single sideways glance. Taking advantage of Ben’s temporary loss of focus, he flipped him over onto the bed, then pushed his legs up and apart, lying between them and supporting himself on his elbows. Ben’s leaf-green eyes were heated as he lay on his back, licking his own lips in anticipation. He grabbed his knees and dragged his legs even further up and out.

 

“Come on, you big amadon,” he whispered. “Fuck me. You’re *dying* to. Make me scream.”

 

Quinn sucked in his breath, blood white-hot and cock throbbing. The lad was spread out, waiting for him to take him, urging him on. As if he needed that! He groped blindly toward the table for anything to use for lubrication, but came up empty. Shite! He tried to pull back, but Ben shook his head.

 

“I can take it. C’mon, stick it in. *Do* it! Do it now!”

 

Quinn faltered. Every molecule, every atom of his being was begging to fuck the lad right through the mattress. Maybe Ben *could* take him in without it. Just this once. He quickly spat into his hand and used it to slick his cock even a little, then guided himself to Ben’s opening by touch alone, eyes never leaving Ben’s face. The lad was flushed with passion and exertion, eyes glassy in anticipation of Quinn’s penetration. So damned beautiful. As perfect as if God had created him just for Quinn Donovan. 

 

As he slid carefully in, Ben’s strong legs shifted to wrap around his waist, pulling him tightly against himself and locking him in place. Just that quickly, battle became ballet, a pas de deux of shared passion, each straining for every ounce of pleasure. Their rhythm was ages old, as familiar as breathing, but still somehow brand new. Blue eyes met green for a long moment, then Quinn dropped his head onto Ben’s shoulder and began to pump, hard and fast, until the bed shook and Ben’s moans escalated into shouts as he tumbled over the edge again. His climax carried Quinn with him, squeezing, contracting, wringing him dry.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The two men lay panting side by side, not touching. Then Ben sat up and gingerly moved to the foot of the bed, facing Quinn. “Okay?” he asked quietly.

 

Quinn nodded, then sat up, leaning back against the headboard. “You?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

More silence.

 

“What happens now?” 

 

“Dunno.”

 

Quinn studied the naked young man sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. He was oddly appealing, both in his vulnerability and his determination not to give an inch. He knew the feeling. “We can’t keep doing this,” he muttered, wiping his hands on the sheet.

 

“Why?”

 

Good question. Keep doing what, exactly? Quinn wasn’t sure himself. But there was a distance between them that even hot monkey sex couldn’t obviate for long. And he was more than a little stunned at the way they had brutalized each other just now, as if the emotional turmoil was too much to be contained. Quinn would never have considered using his size and greater strength to physically dominate another human being. The very idea was anathema to him. And yet he had done exactly that just moments before, focused on nothing less than Ben’s total submission. On the desperate need to control *something* in a world that had turned upside down and inside out when Ben had disappeared.

 

But Ben hadn’t succumbed. He’d *allowed* Quinn to take charge, as if he’d somehow recognized the necessity in that moment. He wasn’t frightened, then or now, but he was undoubtedly in pain, or would be by morning. Because of him. Quinn habitually sublimated his own desires in favor of his partner’s pleasure, intimidated by his own physicality. But now…

 

“Quinn?” The green eyes were unreadable. He *seemed* calm, but was it just a mask? Had they crossed their Rubicon? Quinn looked away, suddenly unable to bear the guilt of his actions.

 

“Quinn, look at me. Please?”

 

Damn. He slowly turned back, dreading what he would see. Hatred? Fear? Condemnation?

 

But he saw compassion. Absolution. A slim-fingered hand held out to him. Quinn choked back a sob and extended his own, hardly daring to breathe when he felt Ben clasp it. He gave the smallest tug, and thanked God and all His angels when the lad unfolded his legs and crawled back to lie beside him, head pillowed on his shoulder. Strong young arms encircled his waist and squeezed, and Quinn buried his face in the auburn hair, struggling to hold back tears of self-recrimination.

 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Ben soothed, stroking his chest and sides. “You’re worn out, and you’ve had too much to drink on an empty stomach. Go to sleep, love. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

Quinn wanted to protest, but the words and the voice were hypnotic, and he felt himself drifting away on the soft cloud of Ben’s love and forgiveness.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben ordered room-service again the next morning, while Adele luxuriated in a bubble bath. He could hear her singing along with the radio in the bathroom. She wasn’t having much of a vacation since Ben had arrived, though judging from the bags strewn all over the living area, she’d been busy enough yesterday. 

 

He’d bullied Quinn into a hot shower when they awakened. Quinn didn’t seem hung over, but neither was he quite himself. The blue eyes were hooded, and he spoke in monosyllables, when he spoke at all. They clearly needed to talk, and soon.

 

Quinn emerged from their bedroom, fully dressed. He’d trimmed his beard and moustache and combed his wavy chestnut-and-silver hair. He still looked like he’d been run over by a tank, but his eyes were clear. Ben poured tea and gestured to him to sit.

 

“Morning,” Quinn said quietly, taking a seat and opening his napkin.

 

Ben nodded. “Drink your tea.”

 

Quinn picked up his cup and sipped. “Mmm,” he said, with a small smile. “You know exactly how I like it.” 

 

“I ought to,” Ben said. “I’ve brewed enough of it.”

 

Quinn set the cup down and ducked his head, color flaming his cheeks. Uh oh. Still a bit sensitive this morning. Hardly surprising. 

 

“Eat your breakfast,” Ben said. “I ordered extra bacon and sausage. They didn’t have black or white puddings.”

 

Quinn shrugged. “Full Irish breakfast’s not complete without them.” He grimaced. “The blacks always reminded me of asphalt.”

 

Ben ate another forkful of eggs, and made a mental note to look up some local Irish pubs. He wanted a look at edible asphalt.

 

Quinn toyed with his food. Ben watched him through his eyelashes, trying to read the currents in the room.

 

Finally, Quinn spoke. “Ben, I’m sorry.”

 

Ben set down his cup. “For what?”

 

“For… last night, and… everything.” The words came slowly, and with difficulty. Quinn was studying his plate, as if he’d never seen bacon before. 

 

“Me, too,” Ben replied. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. For you, and for me.”

 

Quinn looked up, frowning. “For me?”

 

Ben nodded. “I was a millstone around your neck. You were being targeted.” He picked up his cup, but didn’t drink. “I was the chink in your armor. So I stole their ammunition. Figured they’d leave you alone after that.”

 

Quinn shook his head. “I understand your thinking, but the fact remains, *I* was still there, and you were… not. So I was the whacked middle-aged bachelor who fell hard for another man. And then that ‘other man’ was gone without a word, leaving me looking like a pluperfect fool.” 

 

The words were soft, non-accusatory, but they stung. How fucking naïve could he have been? Quinn was right -- *he’d* still had to look his fellow faculty members in the eye, hear them whispering behind his back that he’d gotten involved with another man, years younger than himself, who had skipped out on him when the going got tough. Crap on a cracker… “I didn’t think of it that way. I’m an idiot. Sorry.”

 

Quinn nodded. “Accepted. If you can forgive me.”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive. We both needed last night. It… cleared the air. But what happens now?”

 

Quinn wiped his mouth with his napkin, then laid his hands in his lap. “That depends on you. You know where I stand.”

 

Ben sighed. It *was* his decision now, whether to stay or call it quits for good. “I love you,” he said. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I did what I did *because* I loved you.” Flimsy excuse, but he needed Quinn to know that.

 

Quinn said nothing.

 

“Things can’t go back to the way they were,” Ben continued, feeling his way. “I don’t work at the school anymore.” He gave a small smile. “Guess you’ll have to get Ani to keep your lab running.”

 

Quinn shook his head. “Mark says they’re looking at outsourcing your job. Probably would have done it sooner or later anyway, seeing as how you were the only one doing it. You made it look too easy, I suppose.”

 

Ben gave a fatalistic shrug. “Makes sense.”

 

“Prospects?”

 

“Thought about maybe looking here, in Manhattan.”

 

“Good idea,” Quinn agreed. “You could meet with some of the employment agencies while you’re in town.”

 

Ben nodded. “I’ll do that.”

 

“Take your time,” Quinn urged. “Don’t just settle for the first thing that comes along. Pick and choose. This is your life you’re talking about. Find what’s right for you.”

 

“Good advice.” But what about *us*? he wanted to scream. Are you writing me off for good? Easing me out of your life by making it sound like you’re backing me on my decision to leave?

 

“And you’ve still got a roof over your head,” Quinn said, pouring them both more tea. 

 

Only because, truth be told, packing up and moving was not something Ben was looking forward to. “Quinn, enough. What are we going to do about...” He couldn’t bring himself to even say it.

 

The blue eyes registered a brief regret. “Us?” he asked.

 

Ben nodded miserably.

 

Quinn shrugged. “What do you *want* to do? You were the one who changed the playing field, yeah?”

 

Shifty bastard, thought Ben. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. “But I did it for you, not for me.”

 

Quinn made a vaguely affirmative sound. “And has your thinking changed since then?”

 

Ben considered. He *had* thought to prevent any further backlash on Quinn’s reputation by leaving. Hadn’t he? He looked into the blue eyes and felt as if Quinn was seeing every traitorous thought. “I’m… I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But we have to come to some sort of an understanding.”

 

Quinn sipped his tea. “I had hoped things would go on the way they had, once the Xandra situation was behind us. The Board seemed willing to let bygones be bygones, as long as-”

 

“As long as we toed their line,” Ben finished bitterly. “Pretended we didn’t know each other anywhere within a thousand miles of the campus. Did you really think they’d let us alone? If you did, you’re a bigger fool than I ever gave you credit for.”

 

“A fool I may be,” Quinn said mildly, “but at least *I* was willing to give it a try. It’d worked for us up to that point, hadn’t it?”

 

“Before they knew about us, yeah. But once it became public knowledge…”

 

“It’s not ‘public’, Ben, far from it. Only Mark Winters and the Board are aware. And Adele, of course.” He set down his cup and leaned forward. “Did you know she went to the Board for us?” He smiled at Ben’s surprise. “Stormed the Gates of Hell, she did, armed with only her own wee self. I’d have chained her to the feckin’ wall, if I’d known. Mark said if not for her, they might’ve tossed us both out on our arses for moral turpitude.”

 

Ben glanced reflexively at the closed bathroom door. Quinn smiled. “She doesn’t know I know. We’ll keep it a secret, yeah?”

 

Damn straight, Ben thought. How long would they have to hide behind the petite Parisienne’s skirts? 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Quinn soothed. “I just thought you should know. But to your question: the choice is yours, Ben. You sawed off a limb behind yourself. But the tree’s still standing, if you take my meaning.” He waited, but Ben didn’t answer. “What is it *you* want?” 

 

“I want… a fresh start,” Ben said, feeling his way. “I have to find a job, obviously.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

“A reference would be nice.”

 

“Done. What else?” Quinn was suddenly all business, as he pulled out his Mont Blanc fountain pen and began scribbling on a napkin. A *linen* napkin.

 

“Shit, Quinn! Watch what you’re doing, you bloody amadon!”

 

Quinn glanced unconcernedly at the napkin. “What? It’s not as if they’ll likely miss it. The room cost enough, they can afford one wee nappie. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” He looked up again, pen poised. “What else?”

 

Ben couldn’t stop staring at the reddish-purple stain on the cloth. If he’d done that, they’d have sued him for vandalism. Quinn would shrug and pay the bill. 

 

“I need to print off some copies of my résumé, to take to the employment agencies.”

 

“Have you a good suit for interviewing? We could go shopping after breakfast.”

 

“*We*? As in you and me?”

 

“Would you rather go with Adele? She has excellent taste. Shall we be askin’ her?” Quinn half-rose from the table, but stopped when Ben reached out a hand.

 

“I just meant, you want to go with me?” Ben said lamely, not even sure himself why he was objecting. All he wanted was to be with Quinn for as long as their fragile peace lasted. It might be the last time.

 

“I’m offering, yes,” Quinn said calmly. “I won’t intrude if you-”

 

“No, I’d like you to… Shit.” He stared down at his plate. Why couldn’t he just say what he was feeling? This was *Quinn*, the man he’d told himself he loved more than life itself. Then why was that voice in the back of his head sneering that he was just leading him on, and that he’d be gone again at the first opportunity?

 

Quinn laid down his pen and walked around the table. His big hands massaged Ben’s shoulders in a familiar, yet oddly impersonal manner. Undemanding. He allowed himself to relax and lean back in his chair, head barely touching Quinn’s shirtfront. Faintly, he heard Quinn humming softly, as he kneaded the tight muscles in his neck and back. He wished they could stay like that forever.

 

Adele padded into the living area, casually dressed in slacks and a silk blouse. She was barefooted, her painted toenails gleaming in the sunlight through the windows. “Bonjour, mes chers,” she said cheerfully. “Is there any more tea?”

 

Quinn gestured to the pot. She helped herself to a cup and liberated a piece of his bacon at the same time. Ben smiled.

 

“We were discussing shopping for a suit in which Ben may engage in some job interviews, jolie,” Quinn said. 

 

Adele nodded. “Charcoal, I think,” she mused. An off-white shirt, and a burgundy tie.” She nodded sharply. “Tres beau.”

 

“I agree,” Quinn said. “But no kerchief in the pocket; it looks affected in a businessman.”

 

“Do you mind, you two? I’m sitting right here,” Ben said mildly. “And it’s *me* that’s doing the interviewing.”

 

“Mais bien sûr, mon cher,” Adele agreed. She put down her cup. “There is a marvelous spa here in the hotel. Massage, sauna. *And* a salon. We will indulge, n’est-ce pas? The three of us!” She reached for the phone and dialed before Ben could open his mouth to protest.

 

Quinn chuckled as he returned to his seat. “Did you really think you’d get off that easily?” he asked.

 

Ben sat back in his chair. Apparently the band was getting back together.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stood in front of the bank of mirrors, struggling to recognize himself. A fresh haircut, a facial and a massage in the hotel spa had left him tingling all over, feeling reborn. Quinn, too, seemed more himself as they headed out for some shopping. Adele was her usual effervescent self, full of advice on fabrics, colors and styles. She was clearly enjoying the chance to boss “her” men around.

 

They went to a very exclusive haberdashery the hotel concierge had recommended, and Ben was now draped in varying shades of grey and navy wool gabardine. Quinn had insisted that a thirty-something professional re-entering the work force had to look the part. He was no recent college graduate pounding the pavement, but an experienced IT consultant and programmer. Ben let them fuss over him. It was easier than arguing.

 

“I like this one,” Quinn said, fingering one of the drapes. “It goes well with your hair and skin tone. The other is too harsh for your coloring, don’t you agree, jolie?”

 

“Absolument,” the petite Frenchwoman replied. “And an ivory button-down shirt. Two or three of them, so you always have a fresh one. Now, ties…” She expertly scanned the multi-hued waterfall of silk. “Burgundy goes well with charcoal. Or a deep blue-green, peut-etre…” She selected several, holding them up under Ben’s chin. 

 

Ben stood quietly. No point in protesting that he couldn’t afford any of it; Quinn would simply whip out his credit card, regardless. 

 

“Now, you’ll be needing a briefcase,” Quinn mused, but Ben shook his head.

 

“Nope. I’m a computer geek, not a lawyer. We carry laptop bags, not attachés,” he said firmly.

 

“Why can’t it be both?” Quinn asked, with a smile. “Something lightweight but well-made, with whatever features you need. The important thing right now is to get your foot in the door, and appearances are everything. That bag you brought with you is ugly, and it’s falling apart.” 

 

“You should talk,” scoffed Ben. “The latches are the only thing holding yours together.”

 

Quinn gave him a haughty glare. “It was a gift from me dear departed father, God be good to him in Heaven.”

 

“Yeah, and it looks about as old as you are.” Ben grinned and sidestepped the hand aiming for his derriere. The blond salesman tittered as he retrieved the fabric samples. 

 

“Excellent choices, gentlemen, and Madame,” he gushed, fiddling with the shirts and ties Adele had lain on the counter. “Ooh, I *love* this one! Does wonderful things to your eyes.” He held up a deep wine-colored tie next to Ben’s face. “Beautiful,” he cooed, brushing imaginary dust from Ben’s shirtfront and collar. He’d already managed to worm his way too close a couple of times while taking Ben’s measurements.

 

Quinn pointedly cleared his throat and the salesman quailed. Ben swallowed a smile. They might still be on shaky ground, but Quinn wasn’t about to allow this effeminate little man near *his* lad, if only on principle. The clerk scurried away like a scared rabbit.

 

The suit would be ready in two days, and Ben gratefully made his escape to the sidewalk. They enjoyed light sandwiches and wine at a nearby outdoor café as they discussed Ben’s prospects. 

 

Adele was enthusiastic. “You have so much to offer, cheri,” she insisted. “Anyone would be fortunate to have you.”

 

“Merci, Madame,” Ben answered, kissing her fingers. “Both of you,” he added, with a smile in Quinn’s direction. “I’m grateful, for everything.”

 

Quinn nodded. “You have the brains, the looks and the experience to get any job you want,” he said simply. “You just need to show yourself to the best advantage.”

 

Adele touched her napkin to her lips, then rose. “Excusez-moi,” she said softly. “I wish to powder my nose.” She went inside, leaving Quinn and Ben at the table.

 

“Quinn,” Ben said quietly, thankful for the chance to talk privately. “I meant what I said. I appreciate all your help. I don’t deserve it.”

 

Quinn gave him a small smile. “You underestimate yourself, as usual. You did what you thought was right. Consider this my way of doing the same.” He leaned forward and covered Ben’s hand with his own. “I realize this isn’t easy for you. It isn’t for me, either. But we *will* get through it. One day at a time. Right now, the most important thing is for you to get settled somewhere, with a new position that offers you growth and personal satisfaction. Any help I can be in achieving that is my pleasure and my privilege.”

 

Ben nodded mutely, staring down at their joined hands. New York was hardly the “time capsule” of the Academy. Hell, even Boston was more forward-thinking! Here he and Quinn could sit outside, openly holding hands, could probably even make out, and no one would take any notice. They’d probably pay more attention to Adele’s tanned legs! And why not – those stems were Grade A Choice. Not to mention the rest of her.

 

“I don’t want us to end,” he said quietly. 

 

Quinn said nothing, but neither did he pull his hand away. A good sign. He hoped.

 

“I love you,” Ben continued, struggling to put thoughts into words. “I couldn’t ever *not* love you. I’m just not sure there’s any future in it, for either of us.” He raised his eyes to Quinn’s face, drinking in every detail, every laugh line, the curve of his cheek under the full beard, the cerulean-blue eyes. It was rude to stare, he knew, but he couldn’t tear himself away.

 

And Quinn allowed it. Blue eyes met green, and Ben *knew*, in that moment, that whatever decision he made, Quinn would back him to the hilt. He was his Quinn, his love, his life, if that was what Ben wanted. Or he would let him go, and grieve in private.

 

Everything suddenly became crystal clear. 

 

He gripped Quinn’s hand tightly, not caring who saw. “I love you,” he said again, and Quinn nodded, waiting patiently for him to continue. “I want a new job, a new life, but not at the expense of losing us.” Another calm, silent nod. “Can you give me some time?”

 

“To be sure,” Quinn said gently. “I would wait forever, if you needed me to.” He looked down at their joined hands. “But could ye maybe be loosenin’ yer grip just a mite? Me fingers are near to fallin’ asleep.”

 

Ben chuckled and made a show of pulling first one, then the other hand away, raising them in surrender. He recognized the intentional lapse into the Irish way of speaking, as a way of lessening the gravity of the moment. “Terrible thing, ‘tis, to be gettin’ so old,” he said jokingly, in a deliberate mangling of Quinn’s County Antrim dialect.

 

Quinn laughed appreciatively. “Ye’re a bonny wee laddie, but ye’re also a miserable feckin’ Yank.”

 

Ben spoke quickly now, afraid that Adele might return before he could finish. “I’ll keep the apartment while I find a new job. If you’ll have me, I’ll come over on the weekends like before, but we’ll keep it on the down low. That way, the Academy stiffs don’t get their collective hackles up about us being seen together too often.” He paused. “But, if I find the right job, and it’s somewhere else…” 

 

“You’ll be takin’ it with my blessings,” Quinn affirmed. “I understand. This is your crossroads, and I’ll not be mucking it up for you. But take your time, love. Find the *right* job, the right path. Dinna ever think ye’ve got to settle, just because ye’ve nae got much money comin’ in right now. Ye’ll nae starve, nae while I hae breath in me body.”

 

Touchy subject. “Quinn,” Ben said firmly, “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. I’ve got savings-”

 

“O’course you do,” Quinn interrupted, “but you be keepin’ that in the bank, for emergencies. Never be so stiff-necked and proud that you won’t let friends help. It would be a favor to me if you’d allow me to lend a hand, even just a finger or two.”

 

Ben sighed. Innate pride warred with common sense. He didn’t want Quinn’s money, had steadfastly refused to let Quinn support him, even when they’d been together. But the man had a point: his savings wouldn’t go all that far, especially if he was going to be looking for jobs in New York or elsewhere. Still, lines had to be drawn. “What did you have in mind?” he asked warily.

 

Quinn pulled out his checkbook. “What would get you through for, say, a couple of months?”

 

Ben did some mental calculations. “Two thousand,” he said reluctantly.

 

Quinn began writing.

 

Ben took one look at the check and defiantly tore it in two. “I said *two* thousand, not *ten*!”

 

Quinn smiled. “Ach, me hearin’ must nae be what it was.” 

 

It was as close to an apology as Ben was likely to get. He shook his head. “You’re an idiot, Donovan. Why do I love you so much?”

 

“Because you’re a sucker for a bleedin’ heart story and an Irish accent,” Quinn murmured, writing another check, which he folded in half and handed to him. “Now, no more talk. You put that in the bank and when you’re rich and famous, you can be loanin’ *me* money, in me dodderin’ old age.”

 

Ben stuffed the still-folded check in his wallet. He was pretty sure it was at least for the same amount as before, maybe even more. He’d had his say, which Quinn had acknowledged, but as usual, had gone ahead and done what *he* thought best. Ben vowed not to touch any more than the two thousand he’d quoted, and to repay it in full, with interest.

 

Adele returned at that moment, followed by a waiter with a groaning dessert tray. “Look, mes chers,” she enthused. “Shortcake, with fresh strawberries! And Earl Grey tea!” She plopped back down in her seat and gestured imperiously to the waiter.

 

The two men smiled at each other, and obediently applied themselves to the rich dessert.

 

“Is it not wonderful?” Adele continued. “Ben, you will look so handsome in your new suit. Companies will be fighting over you. It is very exciting, oui?”

 

“Oui, Madame,” Ben replied. “And my first paycheck is already earmarked to take you both out for a nice dinner.”

 

“Charmant!” she exclaimed, and leaned over to kiss his cheek, then carefully wiped away the lipstick. “We will be waiting most eagerly for your invitation, will we not, cheri?”

 

“Absolument,” Quinn affirmed. She reached out with her napkin and gently wiped away a drop of strawberry juice from his bottom lip. He kissed her fingertips and she giggled like a schoolgirl. Ben smiled.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Adele sighed blissfully and closed her eyes, as Quinn massaged her feet in his lap. “Ah, c’est bien,” she murmured, and both men chuckled indulgently. 

 

“She can be most unapologetically hedonistic,” Quinn remarked to Ben, who grinned down at the nearly boneless woman whose head rested in *his* lap. “But I’d say she’s earned her reward.” He skillfully rotated the slim ankle in his hands and another heartfelt groan filled the room.

 

“Definitely,” Ben agreed, stroking the silver-blonde hair that spilled across his leg. It was so soft; it almost didn’t even seem human. And she smelled like fresh spring flowers. He was mesmerized by the rhythmic movements of the big blunt hands at the other end of the sofa, knowing all too well their expertise in coaxing maximum pleasure from the simplest touch. And if Adele’s murmurs and occasional twitches were any indication, she was enjoying it as much as he was. 

 

Almost as if she had read his thoughts, Adele’s sapphire-blue eyes opened and stared up at him with a lazy smile. “Cheri,” she murmured softly, nuzzling into his hand. Just the one word, then she closed her eyes again with an indolent sigh.

 

Ben’s hand stilled, but she languidly nudged him, like Cosette asking to be petted. With an amused smile, the big man reached for the other slim foot in his lap. The blue eyes held only warm regard for his two favorite people. Adele somnolently turned into Ben’s stroking fingers and sighed again in utter contentment. 

 

A few minutes later, Quinn’s head cocked to one side and he let out a soft fake snore. “I think she’s out, love. She never could stay awake through one of my patented foot massages.” He loosened his grip, but continued to absently caress her ankles and calves. Ben thought the entire ankle would probably fit within the circle of his thumb and index finger. 

 

Quinn released Adele’s feet and let them simply rest in his lap. Leaning back against the deep couch, arm stretched along its back, he softly hummed a tune Ben recalled from dinner earlier in the evening and closed his eyes. Ben watched him quietly, soaking up the peaceful vision, a memory to store away for years to come. He and Quinn, in New York City, Adele quite literally *between* them, and it felt utterly right in that moment. She was so much a part of Quinn’s life. His, too. Their guardian angel. It was almost more than he could wrap his head around. 

 

A sigh from the other end of the couch drew his attention back to his drowsy lover. Quinn sat up, then stood, careful not to disturb their sleeping companion. He arched his back until Ben could almost hear the vertebrae crack, then turned with a lazy smile. “I think it’s time to call it a night, love.” 

 

Ben nodded, then glanced down at Adele, raising a questioning eyebrow.

 

Quinn smiled. “I’ll put her to bed. She can’t sleep out here; she’d regret it in the morning. Go on ahead; I’ll only be a moment.” He gave a huge yawn, and Ben grinned sympathetically. Bed sounded good about now.

 

Quinn carefully gathered Adele into his arms. She murmured in soft protest, then curled familiarly into his embrace, leaning her cheek into his broad shoulder. He gave Ben a bemused smile, then turned and headed into the far bedroom, quietly closing the door behind them.

 

For just a moment, Ben felt an irrational pang of jealousy. Quinn had said he’d be right along, yet the sight of that door closing behind the two of them ate at him. Quinn and Adele could go anywhere, be seen together anywhere, and no one would turn a hair, except to tease them about when she’d finally make an honest man out of him. They could even go into a closed bedroom together and it was perfectly fine. But once back home, he and Quinn would be forced to hide their feelings for each other again, just to keep everyone at the Academy happy. It wasn’t fair.

 

Giving himself a mental shake for his mean-spirited thoughts, he headed for the bedroom. 

 

Quinn came in as Ben was drying off from a quick shower. “She never even woke up, poor lass,” he said, with a tired grin. “I just slid her under the covers and turned out the light.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and began taking off his clothes. Ben toweled his hair.

 

“Would you mind if I didn’t shower?” Quinn asked over his shoulder. “I’d fall asleep holding up the wall. I’m knackered.”

 

“No worries. Come to bed,” Ben replied, trying not to think about Adele’s delicate floral perfume clinging to Quinn’s skin. Even the expensive designer soap hadn’t completely removed her fragrance from his own. It was almost as if she was still there in the room.

 

“Cheers,” Quinn murmured appreciatively, crawling into bed and stretching luxuriously. Then he turned and reached for Ben, nuzzling the sensitive joint where shoulder and neck met. “Love you,” he said softly.

 

Ben stretched to turn out the light. “Love you, too,” he murmured, enjoying the tickling from Quinn’s beard on his damp skin. After being apart for so long, even the slightest caress set his senses on fire, and he shifted backward, brushing his rear against Quinn’s groin in invitation. He felt an almost irrational need to claim, to re-establish ownership, to plant a flag, as it were. Or have Quinn’s “flagpole” planted in himself, he thought ironically.

 

A soft snore filled his ears. Quinn was already asleep? Knackered was right. Unfortunately, parts of Ben were now all too awake and demanding attention. 

 

Hesitating only a couple of minutes, he reached down and grasped his cock, slowly stroking it in time to Quinn’s quiet breathing, imagining it was Quinn’s big palm arousing them both. It was oddly exciting to pleasure himself, while carefully not disturbing the somnolent man lying right beside him. Stealth mode jerk-off, he thought, pumping harder while muffling his groans into the pillow. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn lay quietly, mesmerized. It was the rankest kind of voyeurism, he knew, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to intervene. He really was exhausted, and though he had felt guilty that he was too tired for lovemaking, he’d told himself he’d make it up to the lad the next morning. Morning sex was a grand way to start the day. 

 

He’d always scorned pornography, preferring Renaissance sculptures and paintings to tacky stag films and magazines, but this was an art form all its own. In his mind, he pictured Ben’s handsome features contorted in ecstasy, hand fisting himself toward completion. The soft sighs and muffled moans reminded Quinn of a delicately tuned instrument of delight, a solo performance for a rapt audience of one. Ben would probably make some crass comment about a “joystick.” Strange that he’d never made the connection before...

 

Ben’s body stiffened as he climaxed, and Quinn could almost feel the hot fluid spilling through his own fingers. The younger man shuddered for a long moment, then gradually relaxed. The change of position allowed Quinn’s own semi-erect cock to shift gratefully into a slightly less cramped position. 

 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, unable to keep silent.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben froze. Shit, Quinn was *awake*?!? 

 

“Um,” he stammered, feeling the hot flush rise, even as he tried not to struggle out of his lover’s loose embrace. “I- I didn’t mean to wake you. I mean, I thought you were… asleep…” 

 

“I was, almost,” Quinn said, kissing Ben’s ear from behind. “But what a brilliant way to be awakened. Dinna be embarrassed, lad. I loved it.”

 

“You’re a bloody Peeping Tom,” Ben said, laughing shakily, but starting to relax again. The whole situation was absurd.

 

“Mea culpa,” Quinn agreed, chuckling deep in his chest. He turned Ben to face him. “I *loved* it,” he repeated softly, meaningfully. “It was… inspiring.” He let his hips slide forward, watching Ben’s eyes widen in the dim light from the window as he felt Quinn’s now fully erect cock throbbing against him. 

 

“Oh, really,” Ben purred, reaching out to stroke Quinn’s derriere. “I thought you were… ‘knackered,’ was it?”

 

“I was. I am,” Quinn agreed. “But never too tired to appreciate my greatest treasure.” He pulled Ben closer and covered his mouth with a heated kiss.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Afterward, Ben lay quietly in Quinn’s arms, facing the window to the street below. He felt as if he could sleep for a week, and he knew he’d be sore come morning, but he’d have done it over again a thousand times. For someone who had professed to fatigue an hour earlier, Quinn had quite literally risen to the occasion, and Ben mentally apologized to both his lover and Adele sleeping peacefully in the next room. 

 

Good, bad, but definitely *not* indifferent, Quinn Donovan was his.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben met with a couple of employment agencies, who took his résumé and promised to be in touch. They didn’t come right out and say it, but he had the impression that while his experience in the field was an asset, his age might actually count against him. Unbelievable.

 

“I guess they’re thinking either I’m too old to be ‘with it,’ or that I’ll command too high a salary,” he grumbled at dinner that evening.

 

Adele refilled his wine glass. “I am certain that you will be very much in demand, once they meet you, cheri. And if not, it is their loss and not yours, n’est-ce pas?”

 

Ben thought about the check in his wallet. He hoped he’d not have to break down and use it anytime soon. “I’m thirty-two years old, Adele, nearly thirty-three. Even for professional football players, that’s hardly over the hill. But I only have a Bachelor’s degree. Ten-plus years’ field experience apparently doesn’t matter as much as a piece of paper.”

 

“Perhaps that’s where Xandra Criton got the idea that she didn’t need to bother getting a diploma,” Quinn mused. “But what experience would she bring to the table?”

 

“None that would get her a job anywhere, except maybe in a strip joint,” Ben muttered, then clapped a hand over his mouth, shocked that he’d even said it out loud. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”  
Quinn and Adele were both struggling not to laugh, and not very successfully. He felt himself blushing, and picked up his fork. “Shit,” he said, around a forkful of pasta Alfredo, trying not to grin.

 

Adele wiped her eyes with her napkin. “Oh, Ben,” she said, “you are a delight. I have missed you so.” 

 

“Thanks,” Ben said, smiling. “But it’s just until I figure out what my next move is, remember. Don’t get too used to the idea.”

 

“Mais bien sûr, cheri,” she replied serenely. “But you will not be without a position for long. You have too much to offer.” She sipped her wine. “Take my word for it. Je suis votre bonne fee.”

 

Quinn groaned. “Adele, really…”

 

She looked faintly surprised. “What?” 

 

Ben, too, was confused. Obviously, something had suffered in translation.

 

Quinn set down his wine glass. “A ‘*fairy* godmother?’” He cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Et pourquoi pas?” she asked innocently, looking from one man to the other.

 

Ben covered his mouth with his napkin, trying not to laugh at Quinn’s clearly affronted dignity. “I think he’s objecting to being called a fairy, cherie.”

 

Adele’s sapphire-blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “Excusez-moi, messieurs. But if the shoe fits…”

 

Both men groaned in unison, then clinked their glasses to hers.

 

~the end~


End file.
